Thinking Out Loud
|
||||||||||
| Printer Friendly Story View |
I've buried a lot of my laundry in the back yard.
Phyllis Diller
I hate doing laundry.
If you would have told me when I was a young carefree child that the major part of my existence as an adult would be washing dirty clothes, I would have told you that you were just a big meanie who probably didn't believe in Santa Claus either.
Fast forward 30 years and I'm here to say, I hope that carefree little girl had a great time enjoying the clean apparel that seemed to magically appear in her closet on a weekly basis. My mother would undoubtedly have a different version of how they got there.
It is one of those chores that is a never ending cycle.
The feeling of satisfaction of being caught up on the mountains of dirty clothes lasts until you change into your pajamas at the end of the night and the mountain begins anew.
Socks upon socks. Bedding. Work clothes. Lounge clothes. It never ends.
Don't even get me started on the shirts and slacks and other items that need ironing. That is a whole separate level of Laundry Hell on it's own. It deserves its own book, not just a couple paragraphs in a column.
Yes, sure I'm grateful for owning the equipment to be able to wash my clothes on my own schedule, sans a handful of quarters. Yet, Phyllis Diller might be on to something.
When I decide someday to sell my humble abode and move, the new homeowners may want to treasure hunt in the back yard. There could be perfectly wearable (admittedly dirty), jeans, sun dresses, work clothes and assorted items hidden among the buried dog bones.
But, I'll never tell.
| Printer Friendly Story View |
|
|
Diane Szczepanski |
|
|
|
Printer-Friendly Story View
0200 Nd: 04-12-2024 d 4 cpr 0
12/31/2020 P3v3-0200-Ad.cfm
SPONSORED LINKS
12/31/2020 drop ads P3v3-0200-Ad.cfm